


Watch the Skies

by hilaryfaye



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: High Fantasy, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-27
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-01-17 06:23:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1377160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hilaryfaye/pseuds/hilaryfaye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Siromas is a city unlike any other in the world, a city dominated by mages--where the heavens are a riddle to be unraveled, the wind is a tool, and the sea is full of old friends. </p>
<p>Midorima Shintarou means to know the stars and all their secrets, studying as a mage's apprentice at one of the five universities of magic in Siromas. </p>
<p>Kagami Taiga is just a blacksmith's apprentice who shouldn't be on Midorima's mind as much as he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arrival

A hot, dry wind swept over the water, carrying the smell of dust. Taiga had never paid much attention to those smells before, but the weeks at sea had made him sensitive to anything that smelled just a touch different than pitch or saltwater or fish. That hot, dry smell caught his attention like a bell as he came abovedecks, and saw the brown hillsides stretching along the horizon, and the city of white stone nestled into a bay.

“Siromas,” one of the sailors informed him. “Most beautiful city in the world.”

It looked nothing like home. Home was green and forested, home smelled of fresh rain and thunder. This place only smelled like heat.

“The witch city,” Taiga remembered. That’s what they had called it at home.

The sailor laughed. “Mind you don’t say that to anyone when we make port, ah? The mages don’t take kind to that sort of talk.”

Taiga nodded. He hadn’t looked away from those hills.

He had heard plenty of stories about Siromas since he left home on this ship. They said that there were more sorcerers in Siromas than in any other city in the world. This was a city built for mages, with not one but five universities of sorcery.

It was also, the sailors told him, a good city for orphans.

“Well don’t just stand there,” the sailor said, “go on, scurry up to the crow’s nest and have a look. No other view like it.”

The wind picked up again as Taiga climbed, ruffling his clothes and his hair. The wind was never this hot back home.

The sea yawned out to the west, vast and green--and to the east, there lay the coastline of Siromas. Taiga could see the universities, with their observation towers, and the city that flowed with the hills they rested on, homes stacked one over the other like puzzle pieces..

He could see a flock of goats on a hillside, small and white and grey, and there the goatherd, resting in the shade.

Seabirds wheeled overhead against the clear blue sky. The only clouds were far at sea, white as fresh-washed fleece.

The city was more colorful than he first thought--Taiga could see the sides of houses painted brilliant colors, and the white roofs that almost blinded him under the sun. Flags of bright fabric waved in the sea wind.

Everything seemed so still.

Taiga’s lungs felt dry.

#

The blacksmith looked him up and down with a critical eye. Taiga stood with his arms at his sides, wishing that the blacksmith’s wife weren’t looking at him. She seemed to be studying him the way one would study the muscle on a cow. “Well,” the blacksmith said, speaking directly to Taiga. “You’re a bit younger than I would look for in an apprentice, but you’re big enough to do a few things around the forge.” He rubbed his chin and looked at his wife--she was small, but easily more frightening than her husband. “What do you think?”

“I think he looks like he’s been living off of sailor’s food for too many weeks,” she said. “That’s not healthy for a child. A few weeks decent meals and he might surprise you with what he can do.” She folded her arms over her chest. “I’ll tell Mitobe to set an extra place at the table tonight.”

The blacksmith smiled. He reached out, patting Taiga on the back (and almost knocking him over.) “It’s a good thing you got in Riko’s good graces, huh?”

Taiga stared at him. Kiyoshi only smiled. “Welcome to Siromas.”


	2. Festival

“Midorin,” Momoi pleaded, _“Please_ go to the festival with us.” She was standing firmly in his doorway, refusing to budge.

Midorima folded his arms. “Momoi, I have work to do.”

“But Midorin, you’re always working.” She folded her arms back, staring stubbornly up at him. “You never leave. It’s not good for you.”

Midorima began picking up his books and parchment. Momoi didn’t move out of the door. “It’s just one day, Midorin!”

Midorima’s room at the university was a fairly simple one, walls the color of wheat, and two large windows that opened onto a small balcony. He had a few chairs, and a bed that lay stretched along the south wall. It had been his home for the last seven years, since he was old enough to become a student at Galaira.

Each of the five universities of Siromas had a particular claim to their uniqueness. Eleus, to the north of the harbor and with it’s foundations in the very cliffside, had produced more mages specializing in elemental magic than any other. Usone, which was built into a hill just to the north east of the city, boasted a library larger than that of any university in the world.

Icassius was the most experimental in their magics, pushing the boundaries of accepted law and practice--it lay easternmost of all the universities, though the gates let out immediately into the city. And Acenar, the closest to Galaira, was a university which focused on the individual strength of the mage. Students there pushed themselves to the limit, exercising their ability as far as it could reach.

Galaira specialized in charting the movements of the heavens, which was why Midorima had chosen it, though his family would have preferred him at Usone. Mages at Usone where nearly guaranteed a respectable career as a scholar. Galaira, his father said, had a bad habit of turning out mages who were good for little more than navigating ships and staring at the sky, contemplating the shapes of clouds.

Midorima had excelled at Galaira, following the path of the stars and conversing with his teachers about how the heavens affected the world below. That was not his only area of study, but it was perhaps his favorite.

“Midorin, are you _listening_ to me?” Momoi demanded. She put her hands on her hips, frowning at him. “Festivals are important.”

“How so?” he asked. “They’re frivolous affairs in which everyone drinks as much as they can and make utter fools of themselves.”

“Hey, pipe down,” Aomine leaned around the door. “Satsuki, what’s going on?”

“Midorin won’t come to the festival,” Momoi said, clearly expecting Aomine to help her.

“Ah. Just as well. Midorima wouldn’t have any fun, he’d just sulk all night.”

Midorima glanced up sharply. “I do not sulk.”

Aomine ignored him. They were both already in their festival clothes--white robes, colorful sashes, sandals--a fact which surprised Midorima, at least with regard to Aomine. It must have been Momoi’s doing, and she would have had Kise’s help, to get Aomine ready for something on time. “Satsuki,” Aomine said, “Leave him alone, you’ll never be able to make Midorima go anywhere he doesn’t want to.”

Momoi narrowed her eyes, which Midorima knew to be an expression of dangerous determination. He would have to escape this room quickly or Momoi was going to make him go to the festival if she had to drag him in a sack.

He was about to make a break for it when-- “Momocchi, Aominecchi, we’re going to be late!”

Kise appeared, carrying a basket of flowers. The spring festival would be overflowing with them--flowers in people’s hair, flowers thrown from rooftops, flowers strung across courtyards and tossed into the waters of fountains. Midorima hadn’t attended spring festival since he was a child, but it was always the same.

Musicians would be on every street, people would be singing and dancing and drinking and making a spectacle of themselves. Everyone’s fresh new festival robes would end the night stained and torn, sashes missing, and not a few people would soon be expecting children.

Kise looked at him curiously, still dressed in his blue university robes. “Midorimacchi, aren’t you coming?”

“No!” Midorima said sharply. “I have _work_ to do.”

“But Midorimacchi!” Kise said, immediately stepping into his door next to Momoi. “You have to come! It’s spring festival, it’ll be our last one--” He stopped, covering his mouth with a hand.

Midorima turned. “What do you mean our last one? The spring festival happens every year.”

Momoi looked like she hadn’t wanted to tell him this just yet. “This will be our last spring festival all together, the seven of us,” Momoi said.

“Akashi’s going to Eleus next year,” Aomine said. “And Satsuki and I are going to Acenar.”

“Mukkun’s going to Usone,” Momoi added.

Midorima felt as if a rock had been dropped into his stomach. He looked at Kise, who shuffled from foot to foot and said, “Kurokocchi’s leaving the universities entirely. He’s going to go work near the docks or something, and I--” Kise held his basket a little closer. “I’ll be leaving Siromas.” Kise had always wanted to travel.

“I see,” Midorima said quietly.

“Please come to the festival with us, Midorin,” Momoi said. “Please, we’ll all have a great time!”

“I don’t have any robes.”

“I had some made for you!” Momoi said, smiling. “Oh, Midorin, you’re coming, aren’t you?”

Midorima sighed. “I suppose I am.”

Momoi made a sound of delight and went running for the robes. Aomine was saying something to Kise--Midorima wasn’t listening.

No one had told him they were leaving Galaira. Admittedly, none of the others had seemed particularly invested in the stars, but he hadn’t thought they’d leave.

Mages moved between the universities frequently, once their basic education had been covered and they had more specialized interests, but--

Midorima put down his books and his parchment. Everyone but Kise would still be in the city, at least.

Would they even want to see him?

He had half the feeling that most of the others only tolerated him because of Akashi and Momoi.

“Here they are!” Momoi cried, bursting into his room with a set of festival robes. “They might be a little short, but I think they should fit.” The sash she had picked for him was a rich emerald color, embroidered in gold and scarlet flowers.

It was beautiful, but Midorima couldn’t speak for fear of saying something he would regret.

“Hurry up and get dressed, now,” Momoi said. “We’ll meet you down by the gates!”

Midorima nodded and finally everyone left him alone. He closed the door to his rooms, and laid his head against the wall, sighing.

He wasn’t any good at festivals.

#

The robes fit well enough--trust Momoi to know his measurements. Midorima ran his fingers over the embroidery on the sash as they walked. There was supposed to be some big event at a square several streets away, near the old markets where tradesmen had made their homes. Midorima hadn’t been in quite some time--it was a neighborhood not often frequented by mages, though there seemed to be plenty on their way there.

Midorima recognized people from each of the universities, already passing around wineskins and singing. He’d never really understood what there was to sing about--in just a month or two, they’d all be cursing the sun and the heavy heat of summer, the numerous insects and the lack of cool water to drink. The whole of Siromas would go as drowsy as a mare with fermented apples.

“Don’t look so glum, Midorimacchi,” Kise said, passing a wine skin he’d not had five minutes ago to Midorima. “Maybe you’ll meet someone tonight, huh?” He winked.

Midorima had absolutely no intention of doing that, but he took a long swallow of wine--if for no other reason than so that he wouldn’t have to endure this festival completely sober.

When they reached the square there was a mage standing on the edge of a fountain, flowers braided through their hair, leaping about and telling the story of the whales in the clouds, whose song was thunder, who missed their brethren in the sea--that was why they wept, and rain fell.

The mage thrust a hand skyward, and the water in the fountain answered, taking shape as misty whales that swam just over the heads of the delighted crowd. When the mage dropped their hand, the mist fell over the crowd.

Midorima handed the wine skin off to Murasakibara, and made some excuse to Akashi about getting more wine. Akashi nodded, and Midorima slipped off to a spot where there weren’t so many people, catching his breath.

He did buy another wine skin--but this one wasn’t for sharing.

Midorima watched the others--Momoi was pulling Kise into a dance, Murasakibara was watching all of the food vendors with interest, Aomine was having some kind of shouting contest with someone across the square, and he hadn’t the faintest idea where Akashi and Kuroko had gotten to.

They were an odd group of people to gather together. The only thing that had really put them in each other’s spheres were their teachers, who had recognized in each of them some kind of talent.

Midorima wasn’t very good with people. He knew that.

He took another swallow of wine. He didn’t intend to get drunk, but he thought maybe having a fuzzy head would be more desirable than thinking too long about any of this.

#

He must have been more nervous than he thought, because he drank too much too fast, and found himself staggering along a street he didn’t recognize, desperately wishing he could tell which way led back to the university--but every time he tried to look at the sky for a clue, his head swam and he had to lean against the nearest wall and close his eyes until the world stopped shifting under his feet.

“So much for not getting drunk,” Midorima mumbled, his forehead pressed against the cool stone of what was probably someone’s house. He could still hear the ruckus of the festival just a street or two away, and he had absolutely no desire to rejoin it.

“Hey, are you alright?”

Midorima groaned. Of course someone had found him at the exact moment he wanted to be left completely alone. He tried to push himself back off the wall, straighten up, and staggered directly into the stranger who had asked.

His first impression was that this person was about his height, and very warm. “Sorry,” he mumbled, stumbling back into the wall, and getting a half-decent look at the stranger.

The stranger’s festival robes were a little disheveled, but the first thing Midorima noticed was the sash--a deep red, embroidered in white. It wasn’t the most expert embroidery Midorima had ever seen, and it looked a bit worn--not new at all.

“Hey,” the stranger said again, “you need some help getting home?”

Home. Home, yes that sounded perfect. Midorima nodded, wishing he didn’t feel quite so wobbly. He managed to get a look at the stranger’s face--oh. Oh.

He was glad it was just dark enough that his blush couldn’t be seen as the stranger helped him stand straight, an arm wrapped just under Midorima’s shoulders. “Where do you live?”

“G-Galaira,” Midorima managed to say.

“You were heading in the wrong direction if that’s where you were trying to go,” the stranger said, turning them both around. “I’ll get you there.”

Midorima sagged--both because he was exhausted and relieved. At least he wouldn’t wake up on the other side of the city, not knowing how he’d gotten there.

Overhead, fiery flowers were blossoming in the night sky, every different color they could be made. Lizards as long as Midorima’s arm scuttled along the street, hissing in protest at being disturbed.

“Thank you,” Midorima mumbled.

“It’s nothing,” the stranger said, “I was getting a little tired of the party.”

Something about his voice was nagging at Midorima. “Where--where are you from?” Midorima squinted at him through the dark. “You don’t sound like you’re from Siromas.” That wasn‘t anything particularly unusual--Siromas was a major port, after all--but this stranger knew the city well enough to know where Galaira was.

“Ah, I got here a few years ago as a stowaway on a cargo ship,” the stranger said. “The crew dropped me off here, left me with a blacksmith.” He glanced at Midorima. “Galaira, huh? The ship had a navigator from Galaira.”

“It’s a common occupation,” Midorima said. He leaned heavily against the stranger, not trusting his own feet to do anything but move forward.

They didn’t talk much more as the stranger helped him back to the university--and it wasn’t until he was laying on his own bed staring at the ceiling, listening to the festival outside, that Midorima realized he’d never asked the stranger’s name.


	3. Meeting Again

“Ah, Kagami!” Kiyoshi said when Taiga made it back. He had a crown of flowers lopsided and apparently forgotten on his head, sitting on the stoop in front of the house. “We wondered where you’d gone.”

“I had everyone out looking for you!” Riko announced, throwing the door open. “I thought you must’ve been kidnapped onto a ship! Go inside and get those robes off, they need to be washed.” Taiga could smell hot water and soap--she was already washing everyone’s festival robes.

“Yes’m,” he said, and nodded.

“Where _were_ you?” Riko demanded, stopping him before he could go in the door.

“I found somebody stumbling around lost and too drunk to find their way so I got them home.” Taiga knew that everyone else was probably inside listening--and maybe a fair few of their neighbors--this was hardly the first time he’d gotten yelled at on the front step.

“Ah.” That was all. Riko turned to Kiyoshi, announcing-- “Teppei, you’ve still got that crown on your head.”

“Have I?” He reached up to feel for it. “I rather like having a crown, I think.”

Taiga slipped in the door, past the others. Mitobe was heating water for the washbasin, and Koganei was sprawled on the floor, snoring.

 _It’s a good city for orphans,_ the sailors had told him. If nothing else, they were right about that.

#

Midorima woke feeling as if his head had been slammed against a wall. He groaned, pulling his pillow over his face, thinking he might smother himself rather than endure this.

“Midorima-kun,” said a voice.

Midorima pressed down on the pillow. “Mmph.”

“Midorima-kun, the other want to know if you’re alive.”

Midorima pulled the pillow down just enough to squint and glare at Kuroko. “How considerate of them.”

“You got separated from the group last night. We were worried about you.”

Midorima pulled the pillow back over his face. He’d been conscious just long enough to remember the stranger who’d helped him back to the university, and wonder if anyone had seen them.

He’d die if they had. All his years at Galaira and he’d never once been so drunk he couldn’t make his own way back to his quarters until that night.

“I’ll tell them you’re alright,” Kuroko said. Midorima listened to the chair creak as Kuroko stood.

Midorima waited until the door shut to remove the pillow and observe his situation.

He was in his own bed, at least--still in his festival robes, though the sash was on the floor, cast over his sandals. Midorima carefully pulled himself into a sitting position, glad, at least, that the curtains were still pulled shut over the windows. He didn’t know if he could bear the light just yet, and if what crept through the heavy fabric was anything to guess by, he had far overslept, and that would have been noticed.

All this, for a spring festival he hadn’t even spent with anyone.

Midorima folded his hands and laid his forehead against them, eyes closed. It had been a mistake to go. He had only rarely gone to festivals with them before, what was the point in going to them now?

He rubbed his face, supposing he should get washed up and dressed. He would go to the library and spend the afternoon working, and with any luck, not talking to anyone about the spring festival.

#

Kagami was up before the sun had fully risen above the mountains--more out of habit than anything--preparing the forge. Most of the city would sleep late into the day, recovering from the festival, so the only sound Taiga had for company was the breeze through the flags, and the birds on the rooftops.

“You won’t do yourself any favors if you start working before you’ve eaten.”

Taiga glanced up. Kiyoshi leaned in the door, still sleepy-eyed. “You can’t work on an empty stomach.”

“I couldn’t sleep.” Taiga took a pair of half-finished shears off the wall. “Thought I’d finish up a few things.”

“It was around this time of year you arrived in Siromas, wasn’t it?”

Taiga put the shears down, and stared at the embers in the forge. “It was just after,” he said. “Three days. I remember because the crew of the ship had a celebration--the navigator, she was the only one who kept a calendar.” Taiga turned away, looking through the tools for something, he didn’t know what.

“You never did say why you came to Siromas,” Kiyoshi said.

Taiga shrugged. Kiyoshi came over to take a look at the forge. “It’s too hot to do anything right now. Come eat something, it’ll be cooled down enough by the time we come back.”

Taiga nodded. It had been seven years since he’d been brought to Siromas and left in Kiyoshi’s care. He hadn’t been unhappy, but… well. Every spring he was reminded.

#

A week passed without too much incident, though Midorima got to hear plenty of musings as to what he might have gotten up to at the festival, all much more exciting than stumbling through a dark street in the wrong direction.

He spent several nights on the roof, taking advantage of the clear skies to update his star charts, and make note of the planets and their place in the sky. Momoi complained that he was avoiding her and the others, so he finally agreed to have supper with them.

It was a particularly hot afternoon, warning of a harsh summer to come, and they settled in the shade of a lemon tree, picking over oranges, fried clams, olives, and a cold dark tea sweetened with milk and honey. .

Kise was furious because his family had sent a cargo of perfumes north and half the cargo had been lost in a storm, either from broken bottles or saltwater. “If they had packed it properly, we wouldn’t have lost a thousand sols worth of perfumes to the sea.” Some losses were to be expected, of course, but not _half._

“Make the ship pay for the loss,” Midorima said, sipping at his glass. The tea was sweeter than he might have made it, but it was too hot to refuse a cool drink.

Murasakibara was leaned back in the grass, peeling yet another orange and complaining of the heat. Aomine looked like he might be asleep. Akashi was crouched at the base of the tree, watching the harbor.

Galaira had a perfect view of the harbor from where it sat, and was the first landmark many ships coming to Siromas from the south saw.

Kise considered that, and nodded. “I’ll suggest it to my mother.”

“Midorin,” Momoi said, leaning over their food basket. “What _did_ happen at the festival?”

Midorima looked out over the bay. “I got a little too drunk and thought it better to get myself back here before I got into trouble.”

Momoi clucked her tongue, and Kuroko, using the probably unconscious Aomine for a pillow, helpfully put in-- “Someone brought you back. People saw you.”

Midorima thought he might like to throw himself into the harbor.

“Midorimacchi,” Kise said eagerly, “Did you really meet someone?”

“Only in the sense that he was kind enough to keep me from spending the night in a gutter,” Midorima said sharply. “I don’t even know his name.”

“That’s scandalous, Midorin!” Momoi giggled. Midorima stared at her, wondering what he had done to deserve this.

“He brought me back and left, that’s all,” Midorima said. “It wasn’t anything sordid. Did you invite me to supper just so you could interrogate me?”

“Of course not,” Momoi said, offended. She topped off her cup and sighed, stretching her legs out in the sun. “I’m going to miss this view.”

Midorima picked at his food.

“Midorimacchi,” Kise said, “I was thinking of taking a walk through the markets today. Would you come with me?”

“What would possess me to do that?” Midorima was irritated, and he had no intention of making a secret out of it.

Kise pouted. “Well, if you hole yourself away in Galaira forever, you’ll be a wrinkled old prune like the professors.”

Midorima looked at him, eyebrows raised. “That’s what we call aging, Kise.”

“You know what I mean,” Kise said, though Midorima was fairly sure he didn’t. “It’s not good for you to stay inside all the time. Besides, you seem to enjoy telling the fortune tellers all the things they’ve got wrong about the stars.”

Midorima bristled. “I do not _enjoy_ it. It’s just that they’re wrong.”  He grabbed an olive with a little more force than was necessary, crushing it. “But if it will keep you from pouting at me for the next week, I suppose a walk would do me good.”

Kise smiled. “Perfect! I want to go see that fountain we visited at the spring festival again. Somebody told me it’s supposed to be good for wishes.”

Midorima rolled his eyes. He couldn’t fathom the appeal of wishing wells and the like to common folk. They lived in a city ripe to bursting with mages and _real_ sorcery, and they still believed that if you tossed a coin in a fountain your true love would give you a kiss.

And why Kise of all people would entertain such fantasies was beyond Midorima.

Kise caught Midorima’s skeptical look. “Well it couldn’t hurt anything, could it?”

“Oi,” Aomine growled. “Stop making so much racket. Can’t sleep with you seagulls squawking like that.”

Momoi slapped the top of Aomine’s head. “Shut up, Dai-chan.”

Midorima watched the bay. The water was a brilliant green, spotted with birds, and bearing just a light breeze that smelled of brine.

Many mages from Galaira became navigators, guiding ships by the sun and stars, and even the wind and the waves.

Midorima had never seen the appeal of the sea. But of the sky--that longing he understood. If it were possible to sail among the clouds as one went over the waves, then Midorima might very well have taken to a ship. He’d have seen those “cloud whales” that the legends spoke so fondly of, he’d know the name of every bird, and he’d see the great eagles that were said to be the size of a dragon.

But there were no ships that flew, and Midorima could only look up at the stars, and chart their movements, and not wish too hard for the things that were impossible.

#

The markets were humming like a hornets’ nest--apparently a fair few cargo ships had come in since the spring festival, and stalls were overflowing with foreign wines, cheeses, and silver, all of which were immensely interesting to Kise.

There was, too, apparently a massive shipment of iron ore.

And that was where Midorima saw him. Arms folded across his broad chest, he was haggling with the merchant over the price of iron. He looked quite a bit different from how he had appeared at the spring festival--now his clothes were all dark with soot, and instead of sandals he wore heavy boots that would have been just as at home in the mountains.

Midorima glanced at Kise--he was discussing the differences between wines with a merchant, and didn’t seem in any hurry to see if Midorima was still with him.

Midorima went over to where the merchant was selling iron ore, just as they seemed to come to some agreement over price. “Thank you, for the other night.”

The stranger turned, puzzled, and then surprised as he recognized Midorima. “Hm-? Oh. It was nothing.” He looked embarrassed.

“My name is Midorima Shintarou,” Midorima said, extending his hand.

“Kagami Taiga.” His hands were tough as leather, and warm. Midorima felt a flush creeping up his neck.

“So you’re a blacksmith?”

 


	4. Market

Summer came slow and thick as honey, the hills around Siromas becoming gold and then brown,  save for a few stubborn trees, and the hot smell of dust everywhere on the wind.

Midorima spent more and more time studying away from the university, reading his books in busy squares he would normally have avoided, and often spending entire days outside of the university gates. His hands darkened under the sun, and Kise joked that it was only a matter of time before Midorima stepped on a ship and never came back.

But Midorima wasn’t going to see the docks, and he didn’t care about the ships.

He spent most of his days sitting near the fountain that the others had taken him to during the spring festival. It’s water ran clear as crystal, and silver fish no longer than his smallest finger swam through the basin, almost impossible to see except for the flash of light off their scales.

Children tumbled through the square in bare feet, chasing goats or cats or lizards and hiding from their annoyed older siblings. Mothers haggled over baskets of fruit, bundles of cloth, casks of wine--there was an old woman who spent every day spinning wool into thread, to be sold to the dye masters, and her grandson who sat next to her picking the wool clean.

And just across from where Midorima sat was a forge. The blacksmith and his wife had no children of their own, but as the spinning grandmother told Midorima, they had collected quite a number of orphans and misfits over the years.

Midorima thumbed the pages of his book, glancing across the square.

There were certain things Midorima had never felt the need to discuss with others. The students at the university had their romantic dramas and secret rendezvous, none of which Midorima had taken part in.

Of course had had interest in some of the other students--but he knew that any romantic exploits would soon become the talk of the entire university, and Midorima had no interest in becoming the subject of gossip.

And he felt no need to share these afternoons with anyone at Galaira, no matter how often Momoi pestered him as to where he was spending all his time, or Kise implied that he was sneaking away to see a lover. (The very nerve--Kise knew him better than that, he was just being deliberately obtuse.)

If any of the others discovered him, there would be no end to the jokes.

The forge was perfectly visible, as was Kagami. So far as Midorima could tell, he was tireless. There was hardly a moment where he wasn’t at work, heating the coals, hammering something into shape, cooling the metal.

The heat must have been nearly unbearable. Midorima was in the shade of the fountain and he was warmer than was comfortable. He couldn’t imagine what it must be like in the heat of the forge.

He had to admit he was curious about the craft. He’d never had the chance to observe metalworking, beyond what the mages at Eleus sometimes did. What the common people did was completely outside his realm of knowledge.

It looked like difficult work. Certainly much more labor intensive than magic. Kagami was covered in sweat and soot, hammering what Midorima thought was the beginning of a sword. Sparks flew, but if they burned, Kagami didn’t show it.

Midorima had a vague thought that he wasn’t getting much reading done.

The worst part--the absolute worst part of sitting so near the forge--was that, if there was a lull in the general hubbub of the street, he could hear Kagami’s grunts.

Midorima bought a fan from a skinny girl in barefeet who was carrying a whole tray of them. She had sparkling dark eyes that were as shrewd as that of any merchant, taking in his Galairan robes and the broad hat he wore to protect his face from the sun.

Little more than brightly colored paper on a frame, but enough. Midorima shifted with the shade, and balanced his books precariously on his knees. Twice he had almost dropped them into the fountain, and he did not care for the thought of having to explain the water damage to the university librarians.

He made the mistake of looking over at the forge at the precise moment Kagami looked up.

Midorima felt his face go scarlet. This was the third day he’d sat by the fountain, and he knew he’d been seen, but he’d done a fairly good job of avoiding eye contact.

Kagami smiled at him and went back to work. Midorima thought he might drown himself in the fountain.

#

“What are you smiling about?” Riko asked, settling into her chair with a cup of beer. The evenings were warmer now, heavy and drowsy as the sun faded beyond the sea. Teppei sat on the front step, watching the street become quiet, watching the hills go purple.

He glanced at her, amused. “Oh, nothing. Kagami has an admirer.”

Riko raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“I noticed him a couple of days ago,” Teppei yawned. “Some mage from Galaira.”

“Mmm.” Riko sipped her beer, and leaned in her chair. “Why are you making so many swords, Teppei?”

Kiyoshi leaned back against the wall, sighing. “Some messengers came from Kyras. Some idiot king from the north is marching along the ports, apparently trying to conquer ‘witch cities’ in the name of his god or something. The council is calling on every blacksmith in Siromas to arm and armor the city guard.” He looked at her.

Riko stared at him. “You don’t think--they’ll get as far as Siromas?” There hadn’t been a war fought in Siromas in a century or more. The stone from the old city walls had been mostly repurposed for other things, new buildings, bridges. Siromas was a free city, a trade city, a port that refused admit warships of any kind.

But they had mages, more than any other city in the world.

Kiyoshi shrugged. “I don’t know. The council’s worried, though, and that worries me.”

They watched the quiet street, the last few people making their way home, a stray dog begging at doors for scraps. Even the seagulls seemed to have become quieter.

 


	5. Forge Fire

Kiyoshi looked across the forge at Kagami. “Your admirer is back, I see.”

Kagami looked up, spotted Midorima, and went red in the face. He sputtered, trying to look for a denial.

Kiyoshi laughed, looking over the shield Kagami was working on. “Careful you don’t work it too thin. Light, but strong.”

Kagami nodded, still blushing. He glanced at Midorima as he worked, managing to catch the mage’s eye. Midorima went a bit pink and looked at his book.

He’d been coming every few days, and Kagami wasn’t quite sure why. They had barely spoken since they ran into each other at the market, and yet there he was, reading his books in the square, while children and dogs tumbled around him and old women haggled over the price of roots.

Not that Kagami ever actually saw him reading.

Kiyoshi nodded at Kagami, hanging up his tools. “I’m going to talk to the stable master at Icassius. He owes me money for horseshoes and bits.”

Kagami looked at him, puzzled. Kiyoshi rarely took credit, and the idea that he would take credit from one of the universities, which held more gold and silver than anyone in Siromas, was even more ludicrous. But the smile on Kiyoshi’s face said he wasn’t going to say anything more about it. He patted Kagami on the shoulder. “Keep an eye on things.”

Kagami nodded and kept up work on the shield, smoothing out dents. He had noticed quite a few more swords and shields being made--not just at their forge, either. Every blacksmith in the city seemed to be making them.. Kiyoshi had told him that the council had commissioned them for the guard. Something about old ones needing to be replaced.

It was a welcome break from ploughs and sheep shears, anyway.

When the sailors had offered to put in a good word for him with a blacksmith, Kagami had dreamed of making swords. There was something beautiful about them, seeing them take shape and become a weapon.

Before he had come to Siromas, he had only ever seen one sword made. The blacksmith in his home had never had any need to make them, there had been no one to buy.

A man had come through who called himself a wanderer knight, though everyone else named him a mercenary. His sword had been lost when he was robbed on the road, and he had worked his hands raw to save up the money to commission a new one--or so he said. He had been told that this blacksmith was the best in a hundred miles.

Kagami had forgotten the blacksmith’s name, she was a woman strong as any man who had no children, but lived with her wife in the heart of the village. She made scythe blades sharp enough to shave with, and though it had been a long time since she had made a sword, she reasoned it would be easy enough.

New people were a rare sight around the village, so all of the children started hanging around the forge, hoping to see the “wanderer knight.” After a while, Kagami had lost interest in him--he had few good stories, and seemed more interested in the older, unmarried girls--but he still came to the forge to watch the blacksmith while she worked on the sword.

Heating the metal, shaping it, cooling it--it seemed like magic to him. He wanted to do what she could do. Being a blacksmith had to be better than being a farmer, at any rate.

He might have been her apprentice, if not for what happened.

Kagami laid the shield aside and reached for a rag, wiping his face. It was too hot to work through the middle of the day like this. The streets were already beginning to empty as people retreated to the shade of their homes, or to the beach for a swim. The air smelled the way it had when Kagami had arrived in Siromas, hot and dusty, so that your throat was dry just from breathing.

He turned the coals over in the forge and looked around the square. An old man was selling wine in the shade of his house, as he had been every summer since Kagami arrived. He could hardly see anymore, but he recognized Kagami as he came to the little stand to buy a wineskin. “Ah, you’re still getting taller.”

“Maybe,” Kagami said, pressing the silver coin into the old man’s hand. “Thank you.”

The old man smiled, and nodded, waving him off. He had some family, Kagami knew. A granddaughter and her children, who made the skins that he sold wine in.

Midorima was still staring intently at his book when Kagami sat next to him at the fountain, but the page he was looking at was blank. He didn’t seem to have noticed that Kagami was next to him. “Want a drink?” Kagami asked, holding out the wineskin.

Midorima jumped. “Oh, ah--no.” He stared at his book.

Kagami shrugged and took a long swallow, sighing. “This heat is unbearable.”

“It’s not even the height of summer,” Midorima said.

Kagami shrugged. “It never got this hot where I came from.”

Midorima slowly closed his book, fingers curling around the edges. “Where did you come from?”

Kagami regarded the wineskin. “Ah, some nameless little village. It doesn’t matter. It’s not there anymore.”

Midorima looked at him. “What happened?”

“A plague.” Kagami took another swallow of wine. “Followed some traveller to us, and the whole village was just--wiped out.” He stared at the forge, waves of heat drawing the attention of the lizards. “A few people survived. My father got us both onto a ship, but he wasn’t well, and he died a few weeks out to sea.” Kagami put his arms across his knees. “I didn’t want to join the crew so they brought me here, put in a good word for me.”

“Ah.” Midorima paused, and took the wineskin, lifting it high to take a gulp. “I’m sorry.”

Kagami shook his head. “Doesn’t do any good to dwell on it. It happened. I have something here now.”

Midorima ran a thumb over the seam of the wineskin. “I’ve lived here all my life,” he said. “My family was one of the ones that founded a university.”

“Galaira?”

“No. Usone.” Midorima handed him the wineskin again. “For generations everyone in our family has received their education at Usone. But I chose Galaira.” His knuckles went white around the edges of the book.

The square had mostly emptied, except for a few dogs sleeping in the shade, and lizards scuttling across the rooftops. “I need to get back to the university,” Midorima said, standing and sliding his books into his bag.

“Wait,” Kagami said, “The Festival of Fish is in a few days--”

“I have studies I’ve been neglecting.” Midorima ducked his head and rushed from the square.

Kagami frowned, leaning forward on his knees again. “Well, fine,” he grumbled.

#

Some festivals, like those that marked the turning of the seasons, were universals in Siromas. Everyone celebrated, the whole city lit up through the night.

Others were specific. The mages had festivals to celebrate their universities, or to mark the times when some tide of magic that went unnoticed by common folk rose. Those festivals usually took place within the universities themselves, or on the hills outside of Siromas.

And the common folk had things like the Festival of Fish. It came trotting on the heels of the spring festival, the celebration limited almost entirely to the areas nearest the harbor. It was a time of year when schools of fish came past Siromas in droves, so many that the water near exploded with them, and fishermen would plunder that migration with nets, hardly making a dent in the swarms as they took enough to fill the salthouses for the next year.

On the nights during the festival, which lasted a full three days, those who lived side by side with the water would celebrate until the moon slid beneath the horizon, with food and singing and old stories of great fishermen who hauled up monsters out of the deep. Fishermen and their families would be, for a while, as heroes in legend.

Those things, Midorima knew.

He did not know, that for those who celebrated it, the Festival of Fish was also said to be a lucky time to find love.

#

“Midorin,” Momoi said, seated firmly cross-legged in the middle of his bed. She’d been sitting there when he opened the door, expecting him.

Midorima stared at her. “What are you doing in my room?”

This was not what he was used to. Momoi pestered him often enough, but she was never lying in wait like this.

“I followed you today,” Momoi informed him, as if she were announcing that the sun shone in the sky.

“You _what?”_

“I was worried about your safety. It isn’t like you to be so secretive.” Momoi brushed her hair out of her face. “Anyway, I saw that blacksmith’s apprentice. He’s quite handsome, Midorin, I understand now why you didn’t want us to know about him.”

Midorima’s face went scarlet. “It’s nothing like that.”

“Oh?” Momoi smiled. “You hardly looked at your books, Midorin.”

“You’re not supposed to be in my room.”

Momoi got off the bed, at least. “I don’t like it that you’re avoiding the rest of us. If you’re unhappy with us, you can just say so.”

Midorima stared past Momoi at the wall. She sighed. “Midorin,” she said, putting her hands on his arms. “Please stop avoiding us. We do want to see you.”

“Momoi,” Midorima said slowly, “what do people wear to the Festival of Fish?”

 


	6. The Sea King

Midorima glanced at Momoi as she helped him with the belt, tin fish scales clinking as they fell into place. “You’re sure you want to come along?”

“Of course,” Momoi said, “it sounds like a lot of fun.” She smiled. “And no one likes to miss out on a party.”

Midorima stared at her. “Momoi--”

“Oh, don’t look at me that way, Midorin!” She fastened the belt a little tighter than necessary. “I couldn’t not invite them. Not when you’re going off to meet that blacksmith, anyway. And I want to go! I just don’t want to be by myself.” She stood, assessing her work. “I think you look quite dashing, Midorin.”

Midorima turned to examine himself in the mirror. He thought he looked rather foolish, like a child playing at dress up. The clothes were simple enough--anything reminiscent of the sea. Momoi had dressed him all in sunset colors, oranges and yellows, and belted him at the waist with these tin scales. He would jingle with every breath.

“You look like a sea king,” Momoi said, smiling. She herself had picked a dress of blues and greens, pinned at the shoulders with two silver fish, and a string of pearls at her throat. Midorima hadn’t the faintest notion as to how anyone else would be dressed, but he didn’t have high hopes.

“Are you sure it won’t be… a little ostentatious?” Midorima asked.

“Not at all,” Momoi said, “The seamstress I bought the clothes from has been preparing for the Festival of Fish ever since the Spring Festival! You should have seen it all, Midorin--masks and scarves and jewelry. We’ll fit right in.”

Midorima sighed. He hadn’t been back to the square since he’d fled from Kagami’s invitation. He was still second guessing himself, wondering if it was the right idea to go after all--but Momoi wasn’t going to let him back out. She’d probably have the others drag him there by his ankles if he tried.

Still, he didn’t know how he was going to be received--or if he would even see Kagami. The festival lasted three nights, but the waterfront was no small area.

“Don’t look that way,” Momoi said, sliding her arm through his. “I haven’t told anybody why we’re going, but I’ll keep an eye out for the blacksmith too, hmm?”

Midorima grimaced, knowing he was blushing.

“I heard something interesting about this festival while I was out shopping, Midorin,” Momoi said, smiling at him in the mirror.

“What’s that?” Midorima wasn’t sure he liked the sparkle in Momoi’s eye.

“Well, for one the festival’s considered a time of plenty, so it’s lucky.”

“So?”

“So it’s also considered a good time to find love.” Momoi grinned and dashed to the door, pulling Midorima along by the wrist. “Come on, now, or we’ll be late.”

“It’s not even sunset!” Midorima protested, his face going red.

“It’s a longer walk than you think, Midorin.”

#

Momoi was right--the sun was going down by the time they reached the harbor, washing the bay in fire.

The others seemed to have taken after Momoi’s style, all in blues and greens and purples befitting the sea. Only Midorima was dressed in yellows, and he felt a fool for it. He couldn’t fathom why Momoi would do that, making him stand out from their group like that.

“Looked like a sea king” no, he looked like a clown.

Momoi kept a fast eye on him, not letting Midorima slip away as he had done at the Spring Festival. They stood near a cart where a man was selling roasted fish, with flesh so sweet and soft it melted on your tongue, the spices lingering on your lips. Everything smelled of cooking and beer, hot loaves of bread and gutted fish.

A gaggle of children carrying armfuls of fishnets ran past, throwing the nets over unwary celebrators and fleeing, the netted person laughing and calling on their friends to help them out. A particularly ambitious child tried very hard to net Murasakibara, though it landed on one shoulder much like a cape, and Murasakibara paid the child no mind at all.

Midorima tried to discreetly scan the crowd, but both Aomine and Kise noticed, and asked who he was looking for.

Midorima couldn’t imagine how this festival could go on for three nights. Who had the energy for that?

Momoi caught Midorima’s arm by the elbow, and leaned in so she could say without the others hearing. “Over by the puppets.”

A woman with brilliantly colored paper puppets had been entertaining anyone who passed, telling stories of whales that carried cities in their bellies and merfolk who built castles under the waves. The one she was telling then, if Midorima had put the pieces together, was one of two sisters, one who lived on the land, and the other who had taken to the sea.

Kagami stood watching idly, by himself, wearing the deep blue of the sea at evening. Midorima bit his lip.

“Well, go on,” Momoi said, giving him a little nudge. He’s why we came, right?”

Midorima didn’t move.

“If you don’t get over there in the next three minutes I’ll point him out to everyone else.”

Midorima made a disgruntled noise and pulled his arm out of her grasp, straightening his shoulders and glancing at the group. No one was paying attention to him. Momoi looked at him expectantly.

#

Kagami looked up because of the bright colors before he recognized Midorima, and gaped.

Midorima looked embarrassed. “I know, I look ridiculous.”

“No, no--” Kagami stared. “You--you look amazing.”

Midorima’s face went pink. He looked at the puppet show, though he wasn’t really following the story.

“I didn’t think you would come,” Kagami said.

“I wasn’t sure if I would,” Midorima said. “I’m not much for festivals.” He shouldn’t have come. He wasn’t comfortable at all, he didn’t know anything about this festival that Momoi hadn’t told him.

The woman with the puppets ducked behind her puppet stage for a moment, and smiled at her audience. “And then,” she said, “the old sea king Kalis turned to the sister in the waves, and cursed her with the tail of a fish, so that she would never again walk on the land.”

The puppet she pulled up, for Kalis, was robed in orange, a cold belt around his waist. Midorima blinked, then looked across to spot Momoi, frowning.

“They call the sister of the waves Ceris,” Kagami said. “She brings the fish to the bay, so that her sister’s children will never go hungry.”

Midorima glanced at him. “How do these celebrations usually go?”

Kagami shrugged. “Lots of people swim. You eat, you dance, you drink. You get your fortunes told.”

“Fortunes?”

Kagami looked at him, genuinely surprised. “What, you’ve never had your fortune read?”

Midorima shook his head.

Kagami took his hand and pulled him through the crowd, not noticing how even Midorima’s ears went red at the sudden touch. They jostled their way through the crowd to a rickety looking table where an old woman sat with barrels full of fish that were as flat and round as dinner plates.

Kagami nodded at the old woman,slapping a few coins on the table. “My friend has never had his fortune read.”

“Is that so?” The old woman smiled at Midorima, and gestured the barrels. “Pick a fish.”

Midorima stared at her blankly. “What?”

“You pick a fish,” Kagami said, “whichever one feels right.”

“I don’t know what that means.” But both Kagami and the old woman were looking at him expectantly, so Midorima sighed and looked at the barrel.

He was absolutely not going to dig into that mess, getting fish scales and muck on his festival robes. He picked one off the top that appeared to be the biggest, with a faint streak of blue along its belly. He held it gingerly, not wanting to touch it too much, and put it on the table in front of the old woman.

From her sleeves she pulled a long thin knife, and split the fish from jaw to tail. Pale yellow eggs spilled onto the table, and the old woman clucked her tongue. “A lucky year for you, young man,” she said, cleaning the eggs from the fish’s belly. “Prosperity, love. Good things.” She opened up the fish and began to inspect its insides.

Midorima was beginning to feel a little queasy. Not because of the sight of the gutted fish--but there was a particular smell about it that he hadn’t before had the misfortune of encountering, and the air around the table was heavy with it.

“Oh--and look at that.” The old woman had slit open the belly, and pulled out a rusted iron fish hook.

“What does that mean?” Kagami asked over Midorima’s shoulder.

The old woman smiled, her eyes crinkling. “I dare say it means true love.”

Midorima’s face went red. “Ridiculous,” he muttered.

The old woman shrugged. “Maybe so.” She cleaned the fish and wrapped it in wax paper, handing it to Midorima. “Have this cooked, maybe share it with someone special.” She glanced at Kagami, who blushed.

“Reading fortunes out of fish guts,” Midorima said, “it’s laughable.”

Kagami shrugged, oddly quiet. Midorima had the sense he’d said something that he shouldn’t have. He held the waxy bundle, frowning. “Where would we get this cooked?”

#

The fish didn’t smell so bad when it was fried.

Midorima had never done much cooking before, but he knew the rudimentary skills. They chopped the vegetables, measured out the herbs and spices, and fried the fish over a hot stove. They could hear the music in the streets.

“I hope I’m not keeping you from the festival,” Midorima said. Truth be told, he was enjoying this more than the crowded docks. This quiet kitchen, cooking with Kagami.

Kagami shook his head. “It’s three nights long, there’s time to do just about everything.” He was still quiet, and it was beginning to nag at Midorima.

Had he done something? Should he have kept his thoughts about the fish to himself? Was it this costume that Momoi had put him in, styling him after some fairy tale sea king?

“...I really like you.”

Midorima looked up, not entirely sure he’d heard right. “Sorry?”

Kagami’s face had gone bright red, and he was staring at the pan, at the frying fish. “I really like you. That’s why I invited you to the festival.”

Midorima blushed and looked away. “I suppose I like you, too. That’s why I came.”

The oil in the pan hissed and spat. Kagami slid the fish onto the fried vegetables, putting the plate in front of Midorima.

“Share it with me?” Midorima asked, knowing he’d gone red up to his ears again.

Kagami looked equal parts overjoyed and embarrassed. “Sure.”

#

“We lost Midorima again,” Aomine observed.

Momoi smiled serenely. Kuroko noticed. “Momoi-san,” he said, “do you know where he went?”

“Oh, maybe.” She sucked on a sweet. "I think Midorin is enjoying the festival in his own way."


	7. Morning

Midorima woke up curled in a rather uncomfortable position on a bed he didn’t recognize, in a room that he was absolutely certain was not his. It took him a moment to remember the full extent of the night before--going back out into the festival with Kagami, drinking a bit more than perhaps he should have, and being pulled through the streets, with Kagami explaining every facet of the festival, the details of which Midorima only vaguely remembered.

Midorima didn’t remember when they must have stumbled back to Kagami’s home. He sat up on the bed, his head spinning, and tried to gain a sense of his surroundings.

Kagami was on the floor, his festival clothes twisted around, his face half buried in a pillow. He was still snoring.

Midorima rubbed his face, listening to the sounds of the house. Someone was already awake, and cooking, if he guessed the sound of sizzling pans.

He was in a house with people he didn’t know, who may or may not have known he was even there. And if he stepped out of Kagami’s room…

Midorima briefly considered the merits of bolting out the window, before deciding that, at his height, there was no chance of him fitting through it, and the embarrassment of being found stuck halfway out of Kagami’s window greatly exceeded the embarrassment of being found in Kagami’s room in the first place.

And there were more pressing concerns than escape--like where one might reasonably find a toilet in an unfamiliar house.

#

Riko was, perhaps, more than a bit surprised to see someone coming out of Kagami’s room. She was nursing a cup of milk tea while Mitobe made breakfast, and wasn’t expecting anyone else to be up for another several hours. They always drank too much, and rarely came back to the house before dawn.

The sight of a highly embarrassed young man that she didn’t recognize was something of a shock. “Pardon me,” he said, red in the face. “I was wondering where I might find the toilet.”

Riko stared at him, not even trying to hide her surprise. “Just--just down the hall. First door on the right.”

The young man nodded and disappeared. Riko looked over at Mitobe. “You saw him too, right?”

#

Midorima did have the recollection that there would be two more nights to this festival, and he was not sure he could survive it. He also knew that, assuming Momoi had not yet told them, his friends would want to know where he had gotten to.

He wandered back out to the kitchen, steadying himself for what he had to do now. “I’m sorry--my name is Midorima.”

“Riko,” the woman at the table answered. “And this is Mitobe.” She gestured the man at the stove, who nodded without a word. “You must have come home with Taiga.”

Midorima winced. “We were, ah, spending the festival together. I imagine both us drank more than we should have.”

“That sounds like one of my boys,” Riko said, smiling. “Have some tea. Breakfast will be ready soon.” It must have been almost noon, by the heat, but Midorima didn’t comment. He sat at the table, which looked to be made out of driftwood, and accepted a cup of milk tea.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you before,” Riko said. “Where do you live?”

“I’m a student at Galaira,” Midorima answered.

“Was this your first time at the Festival of Fish?”

“It was,” Midorima said, his hands curled around his cup.

“Well, if you thought last night was something, wait until sundown.” Riko smiled. “Tonight everyone’s going down to the shore.”

“For what?” Midorima asked.

“One of the most important events of the season. You’ll understand when you see it.” She put her elbows on the table. “Make Taiga give you the tour, it’s one of his favorite times of year.” Riko smiled at him again. “I hope we can do our little festival justice.”

Midorima felt his face start to go red, and he sipped at his tea.

As the late morning stretched into afternoon, the other members of the household began to stir. Everyone seemed surprised to see Midorima, asking who he was and “who he’d wandered home with.” The only one who didn’t ask was Kiyoshi, who saw him, shrugged, and asked where the tea was.

“You’re more than welcome to stay with us for the rest of the festival,” Riko told him.

“Thank you,” Midorima said, “but I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“You wouldn’t be,” Kiyoshi said. “Half the time I think we’re running a small inn rather than a forge.”

“If it were an inn we’d be making money off of it,” Riko commented.

Kagami wandered out sometime around then, and seemed surprised to find Midorima there. His face went scarlet, a fact which his housemates seized upon with quite a bit of glee.

The restraint they’d had for Midorima was, apparently, reserved for guests only.

#

As it was a festival, there wouldn’t be much work in the city, so Kagami showed Midorima the forge.

Midorima’s eyes traveled over ploughs and horseshoes, sheep shears and knives. “There’s… quite a few swords here, aren’t there?”

“Kiyoshi said that the guard had commissioned new swords, but…” Kagami was quiet a moment. “Usually they just commission twenty or so at the beginning of every year, to replace lost or broken ones.”

Midorima looked around the forge, and then at Kagami. “There’s been whispers,” he said, “in the universities. A northern king who’s on a crusade against the ‘witch cities.’”

Kagami nodded. “Around the docks, too.”

“There must be some truth to it, then, if the council is worried.” Midorima ran a hand over the hilt of a sword. “They must think he’ll reach Siromas.”

For a moment, neither of them said anything.

“If war does come to Siromas,” Midorima said, “I hope you won’t be an idiot and run out to get yourself killed.”

Kagami looked offended. “Blacksmiths don’t go out into battle, not unless they have to.”

“I suppose not.” Midorima wished he had something to wear besides his festival clothes. More than one person had stopped to notice him, and his apparent resemblance to the sea king. He would never forgive Momoi for that.

“My, um…” Midorima struggled to think of a way to explain. “I actually… came with some friends, last night. They’ll probably want to know where I was, so… if you want to meet them…”

“Sure!” Kagami didn’t even hesitate. “They’re mages, too, right?”

“Right.” Midorima felt anxious about this whole thing. That his friends were bound to embarrass him was a given, he just didn’t know what to expect from Kagami.

“Are they coming again tonight?”

If Momoi had anything to do with it. “Almost certainly. They’ll be hard to miss.” Midorima looked at Kagami. “What’s happening at the shore tonight?”

Kagami grinned. “You’ll see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the _year_ that has passed between when I posted the last chapter and this one. Life happened and I found myself stuck with this plot. Anyway, I'm here again, and I haven't forgotten this fic. Thank you so much for your patience, and I hope you'll stick with me. :)


	8. Harvest

The shoreline thronged with people that evening, the same way they had covered the docks the night before. Cook fires were being prepared, but Midorima didn’t actually see any food on them. Everyone seemed to be waiting for some cue.

“Midorin!” Momoi was leading the charge through the crowd, holding onto Kuroko’s shirt, waving to Midorima.

“Is that them?” Kagami asked.

“Why isn’t there any food, now?” Murasakibara looked thoroughly displeased.

“A better question is why are we on the beach.” Aomine shook sand out of his shoes, looking annoyed. “Satsuki--”

“It’s part of the festival tradition, just wait.” Momoi turned to smile at Kagami. “So you’re the one Midorin’s been sneaking off to see!”

Midorima felt his face go scarlet from his neck to his hair.

#

At sundown Kagami took them down almost to the water, where a group of fishermen were waiting with nets. Conversation buzzed around them, Midorima only caught pieces of it.

“It should be even bigger than last year--”

“Did you see the nets? Look how much heavier the cord is--”

Midorima tried to ask Kagami what they were waiting for, but a sudden cry went up through the crowd. “Look, look! Here they come!”

Midorima looked out over the water. The fishermen had waded out with their nets, and the water around them began to glow. Midorima stared, and after a moment, he realized the glow came from thousands--millions of fish, swarming through the water so densely that it seemed like the shore was boiling. They were no longer than the space between Midorima’s elbow and wrist, with lines of spots down their backs that glowed a pale blue.

He stared, unable to quite speak. He had heard of the spring migrations, but this--!

The nets filled to bursting--one of them, in fact, broke within minutes, its hoard of fish spilling back out into the sea. The fishermen didn’t seem to mind, abandoning the broken net to shore and helping haul in another. Kagami leapt in, dragging nets to the shore, full of hundreds of thrashing fish.

The music had started up, and people were taking fish to the cook fires, or cleaning them into buckets and packing them into boxes of salt, to fill their cellars.

“What do you think?” Kagami was still holding onto a net, grinning. He’d been splashed head to toe with salt water, which was dripping out of his hair and off of his chin.

Midorima’s face went red again, because what he thought was that Kagami looked incredible, and he wanted to kiss him. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut--it was one of the few times he’d ever really wanted to kiss someone, and he didn’t know what to do, or say, or--

“Remember to breathe, Midorin,” Momoi whispered at him.

“It’s incredible,” Midorima said at last, because Kagami was still waiting for an answer. “I never realized the spring migrations were so--so huge!”

“It’s bigger this year. The mages say there was a good summer in the south.” He kept talking about the fish, but Midorima didn’t hear it. He was distracted by the way his stomach was tied up in a horrible knot, his cheeks so hot he was sure they were glowing like the fish.

He didn’t hear much of what was said, really. He managed to respond to anything directly said to him, and at some point his friends left (crowded around a cooking fire, if he remembered) and Midorima was still with Kagami, hauling in bursting nets of fish, his festival robes soaked, his palms burned with rope and fish scales, and the taste of salt water on his lips.

The stars were bright when the glow of the water faded, the fish retreating out of reach of the nets. The migration came this close only one night a year, feeding on the creatures that lived in the shallows. By morning, they would have moved on, and the last day of the festival would toast them on their way.

Midorima and Kagami sat on the sand, near one of the cook fires. Midorima was staring at his soaked robes, rather than risking looking at Kagami again.

“Here,” Kagami offered him a skewer running lengthwise through a cut of fish. It’s smell spoke directly to Midorima’s rumbling stomach, and he took it without thinking, only barely remembering to thank Kagami before tearing into it. The fish half-melted in his mouth, rich and warm and cooked just perfectly in butter and pepper.

“So what do you think of the festival so far?” Kagami was looking at him in a curious way. His face was painted a dull orange by the firelight.

Midorima swallowed the fish, and looked at the skewer in his hands. “I don’t normally like festivals,” he said. “They’re crowded and noisy. But… this one I like. I like it a lot.”

Kagami smiled, and that longing to kiss him surged up in Midorima so ferociously that he turned and stuffed his mouth full of fish before he could do something foolish.

“Midorimacchi!” Kise waved his arm as he ran up to them on the beach. “We’re all heading back up to the university, are you coming?”

Midorima was glad of the mouthful of fish so that he didn’t have to answer right away. Kagami spoke up. “You can stay at my place again, if you want. Or I can walk you back later.”

Midorima nodded as he struggled to swallow. “I’ll be a bit longer, Kise, tell everyone not to wait up for me.”

“Right, Midorimacchi.” Kise winked at him, as if he and Midorima shared some kind of secret. “Just make sure you come back by the end of the festival.”

Midorima would have thrown the skewer at him were he not so intent on devouring the fish. “You do this every year?” he asked when Kise had run off.

“Yep. Biggest event of the year.” Kagami leaned back in a way that looked so horribly good Midorima had to look away.

“What’s the third night?”

“It’s a lot like the first,” Kagami said. “Only with even more food, if you can believe it.” He smiled.

Seeing the huge catches, Midorima could. “We should get more wine.”

#

Kagami knew he shouldn’t have had that much to drink, but he was fairly certain he was still less drunk than Midorima, whose face was flushed, and who couldn’t walk without staggering. Kagami laughed and took Midorima’s arm, pulling it around his shoulders. “Easy there, you’ll end up in a fountain.”

“Might do me good,” Midorima said. “Why did you let me drink that much?”

“Why did I let you? You said we should get wine.”

“You didn’t have to get it.” Midorima was mumbling. “Where are we going?”

“Home. S’closer.”

“Okay.” Midorima leaned into his shoulder and Kagami’s face felt as if it were on fire.

The others would tease him about it, bringing someone home twice in as many days, but he wasn’t going to make it all the way to Galaira and back. The pair stumbled their way back to the forge, only falling into walls a few times, laughing, and arguing about who was responsible for how drunk they were. “Maybe s’ the sea king’s fault,”

“How d’you think?”

“I dunno. It’s his festival.”

They stumbled through the door, and Kagami tripped on a table leg. He swore, and laughed, and managed to find their way to Kagami’s room. Midorima slid off his shoulder and sat--or rather fell into a sitting position--on the bed, face pink.

Kagami somehow ended up sitting on the floor. He looked at Midorima and laughed, leaning his head on his knees. “I drank so much. I never drink that much.” He looked up at Midorima. “I really, really want to kiss you.”  

Midorima’s face went red, and for a moment Kagami thought he’d said the wrong thing. Midorima moved like he was trying to lean forward, and toppled off the bed.

Kagami swore. “Are you okay--?”

Midorima laid on the floor, and stared at him. “I--I want to kiss you, too.”

Kagami blinked, and his face burned. For a little while--it felt like ages--they just sat there and blinked at each other, like startled hares. Kagami shifted forward, leaning on his arms because he was fairly certain that otherwise he was going to fall over. Midorima’s eyes flicked up at him from under his lashes, a little hazy because he was drunk, and he leaned into Kagami, steadying his hand on Kagami’s chest, and they hovered like that for a moment, before one, or both of them, fell that little bit closer, and their lips brushed across each other’s.

Midorima sucked in a breath as if surprised. He pressed back into the kiss, his fingers splayed across Kagami’s chest, anchoring him. Kagami’s heart beat erratically, fighting against his ribs. He forgot to breathe.

They stared at each other when they parted, faces still close enough to touch. “I don’t know what we’re supposed to do now,” Midorima said, almost frozen.

“We could--get off the floor,” Kagami suggested. “I think we’re both too drunk to do anything else.”

“I might be too drunk to do even that.”

“I’ll help you.” Kagami managed to get to his feet, pulling Midorima up by his elbows. They squeezed into the bed, which was really too small for the both of them, knees knocking together and their festival robes all tangled up.

“They’re gonna make fun of you when I come out of your room again,” Midorima mumbled, his forehead against Kagami’s.

“Doesn’t matter.” Kagami’s arm was draped over Midorima’s side, just to feel the steady rise and fall of his breath. “I’m glad you’re here.”

 


End file.
